


quarter to three

by annejumps



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Gay Mutant Road Trip, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-08 02:44:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6835789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annejumps/pseuds/annejumps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“If you want to lie to get laid that’s none of my business.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	quarter to three

Charles’ haze of post-sexual satisfaction and contentment is subtle, but strong enough to wake Erik from his inebriated sleep as Charles quietly clicks the door of their hotel room closed behind him. Erik can feel the knob, the hinges, the lock as it all settles back into place. He lies still, breathing even, wondering if Charles can feel his wakefulness or if he’s still too drunk to notice. 

The light on the nightstand next to his bed is the only one on in the room and he can see Charles by it, can watch him take off his tweed blazer. He’s slightly rumpled, breathless, hair mussed from its perfect waves, cheeks flushed. He’s whistling softly to himself, humming by turns as he unbuttons his Oxford, fingers somewhat clumsy, nearly falling over as he takes off his shoes and shucks off his khakis. 

In his boxers and undershirt and socks, with a pleased sigh Charles lets himself fall onto his bed, on his stomach. He hasn’t looked at Erik yet. From his languid movements he’s most likely still drunk, but it’s absolutely the case that some of this is post-orgasmic. He’s exuding sex.

There are few things Charles seems to enjoy more than sidling up to a girl in a short skirt at a hotel bar, smiling at her initial wariness, relentlessly charming her into letting him buy her a drink, getting closer to her until she allows a hand on her leg, a whisper in her ear, and finally an invitation to either her room or his as Erik observes in detached amusement, offering Charles a salute as he goes. Charles always puts one hand at the small of the girl’s back. Erik briefly imagines how the heat of Charles’ palm would feel there. 

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Charles says now, muffled, a smile in his voice. He turns his head to look at Erik, who blinks back. 

“Mm,” Erik replies. “Well, at least someone’s having fun.”

Charles laughs. “Oh, come off it. All eyes are on you wherever you go, you could have anyone you want and you know it.” Charles is still floating on good feeling—that must have been one hell of an orgasm. Erik has vague images (not sent to him on purpose, but not hidden) of a pretty blonde beneath Charles on her hotel bed, her shirt unbuttoned to reveal a lacy bra, her skirt hiked up; Erik hears Charles’ memory of her gasping into his ear and moaning as he kissed her neck, digging his fingers into her hips as he fucked her, khakis unfastened and loose around his hips. Charles seems to like it when they keep their clothes mostly on.

“Do they know you’re a mutant?” Erik asks.

Charles blinks at him, and frowns. “No,” he says.

“Doesn’t stop you from reading their minds, does it?” He knows Charles gets into their heads—perhaps just for a moment or two, just to test his progress, just to give himself an advantage; they’d never know he was doing it when he touched his fingers to his temple. Harmless. He wants to know how to make them feel good, after all; he wants them to come.

Shifting, Charles doesn’t say anything for a moment before admitting, “No.”

“They have no idea what you could do to them at any given moment.”

“No,” Charles says with a chuckle, relaxing a little. “Nothing like that. Nothing that _scares_ them, Erik.”

“No, you wouldn’t want to scare them,” Erik says. “Nothing like the truth to scare humans away from letting you get your hands in their pants.”

Charles, clearly still tipsy, laughs, incredulous. “What are you on about?”

“If you want to lie to get laid that’s none of my business.”

“I assume you tell everyone you can control metal?”

“We’re not talking about me,” Erik says. 

“No, I suppose not.” Charles stretches, and sighs, ending on a yawn. When he speaks again, that diffuse sense of pleasure is gone from his voice. “I don’t think people would much like knowing I could stop them breathing if I wanted.” He turns over onto his back, and stares at the ceiling.

Erik turns onto his stomach, and becomes aware of a pulsing in his cock that’s been ticking approximately since Charles came back into the room, but is only now getting insistent. Hardening between his body and the cheap, rough sheets over the overly firm mattress, his cock is trapped inside the utilitarian cotton of his pajamas. He shudders, and it’s all he can do to keep the roll of his hips as subtle as possible, but it’s not enough to assuage his sudden all-consuming need for friction.

Charles clears his throat, and keeps talking. For all the world he sounds like he’s talking to himself. “I can slow heartbeats, I can slow breaths.”

Moving the arm on the other side of his body from Charles, Erik discreetly presses his arm to his side, getting his hand under the fabric and around his cock, closing his eyes and managing not to moan at the tight pressure, pressing his lips together so tightly it hurts.

“I could make people _want_ me to make them stop breathing,” Charles continues. “I could make them want anything.”

It’s futile to try to hide what’s happening from a telepath, especially Charles, but Erik has to try, and Charles has to pretend he doesn’t know what Erik’s doing.

“I could make them beg me to choke off their breath,” Charles says. “To simply dip into the most primitive parts of their minds, their most basic functions, and… end them. Bring them within a hair’s breadth of suffocating, sending them into darkness.

“The ultimate control,” Charles murmurs to the ceiling, “and I wouldn’t have to lift a finger.”

Erik is apparently still intoxicated enough to think he can’t stop himself from grinding into the mattress, with the most desperately economical movements he can manage, even though he isn’t fooling Charles at all and they both know it. He rolls his hips, fucking into the tight grip of his hand, thinking of Charles in his head. Charles staring into his eyes as he reaches into Erik’s mind without touching him, and simply turns off his breathing. Turns off Erik’s most powerful instinct, like a switch, but without touching him at all. And then he’d free him, let him drag in a desperate draught of air, both of them knowing that at any time he could do it again. 

Just like that.

Erik shudders, and he knows he can’t completely stifle the sound that escapes his throat as he comes. Even as he tries to shut off his mind from Charles’, at the same time he wants him to know, know that Erik’s not afraid—he’s awed, he’s in thrall at the very idea of Charles’ power, he would trust him, he would let him do whatever he wanted—he’s no human, he’s a mutant like Charles, he’s Charles’ equal, he’s _Charles’_. 

“Oh, God,” Charles says quietly, and Erik doesn’t look at him, but he can feel his mind in the room, in the air between them, which is stifling. He knows, then, not because Charles tells him but because he can see it now: Charles longs for him like nothing and no one else, but won’t take him, is more comfortable with these little slips of girls who can’t see right through him, who would never trust him implicitly with the reins if they knew, who would never shudder in worship of his power. No, Charles just wants to be thought of as normal—charming, handsome, good in bed, but normal. 

Erik lies there trying to slow his breaths and quiet himself, evidence drying on his hand. Charles has nothing further to say, and Erik’s sure he’ll never mention this of his own accord. Erik wants to feel him in his mind, to know he’s tasting that bitter but fierce pleasure, but he’s conspicuously absent. Gentlemanly. Tactful. 

And it rankles. Let Charles trip up for once, let him indulge himself without a safety net. Let him risk himself, for Erik.

As he falls asleep, Erik remembers Charles jumping into the ocean for him, saving him from drowning, and his dreams are dark blue, filled with the massive silence of the cold, fathomless deep. 

He dreams of arms around him, holding him tight.

**Author's Note:**

> So I've been thinking, not only about breathplay and mind-control, but: what if something like this was as close as Charles and Erik came to having sex in XMFC (or possibly at all).  
> And this is the result. It didn't quite go where I expected....  
> Thanks, [Red](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Red/pseuds/Red) and fruityshirts, for reading this over!


End file.
